Hands For More Than Holding
by zenofbeingmommy
Summary: Caryl. This story takes place between the final encounter between Merle and Daryl in S3/E15 and the lingering handhold in S3/E16. Rating M for language. (The Walking Dead and identifiable characters, places, and events are not mine - no infringement is intended or implied)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _this started as a drabble that was just to get some feelings and emotions out, and I found I just couldn't stop writing._

* * *

He had a long walk ahead of him. He had considered burying Merle and trying to get some rest, but decided it would be for the best to get back now. The Governor would be angry and focused on taking down the prison. A walker stumbled toward him, slowed by a mangled foot. He took one single gunshot in the hope it would draw any hidden walkers. When none came, he tucked the gun into his waistband and set his crossbow down.

He dragged Merle's body to a small shed and secured it with the intention of coming back later to give his body a proper burial. No matter how much they may have disliked Merle, he hoped that they could do this small thing as they were his only family now. Merle had tried in the end after all, whether as an atonement or a sacrifice, he wasn't exactly sure.

Walking back in the dark was not what he wanted to do. He'd run off on foot without even thinking. He looked around and saw a car that had rolled into the side of the grain silo. Merle's handiwork he was sure, an attempt at a diversion. He approached the car and pulled off the bodies of two walkers that had been shot through the head, probably by the Governor's men.

He opened the door and saw two wires that had been yanked apart. Most likely Merle had sent the car as a noise diversion for the walkers. He climbed in the driver's seat and clicked off the radio. He didn't need to hear the last song his brother had listened to. He twisted the wires together and eased the car into reverse, slowly backing it out of the silo, hoping it wouldn't catch.

Before he left, he paused at the shed where he'd stored his brother's body. There would be no more wondering. No 'Where is Merle? Is he safe? Is he dead?' Daryl turned his hand over. Merle's blood had dried there. His brother had died and he put him down. He had left for good, and he wasn't coming back.

Daryl turned onto the main road and headed toward the highway. He passed only three walkers. He and Michonne between them must have cleared most that had been around. There was a sign for a small town ahead. He took a right and drove into the center of town and disconnected the wires. He looked around and spotted what he'd hoped to find. He exited the car and loaded his crossbow. It was more likely there would be walkers here.

He smashed the lock and entered the small shop. It took him several minutes, but he found what he was looking for and he smiled. He reached for the door and stopped. A walker was shuffling by. He waited for it to pass and opened the door, making a clean shot. As he retrieved the arrow, his eyes caught a display in the opposite window. He crossed the street and stared for a while.

This he could save for later. The lock had already been smashed on this one, but the store looked pretty much intact. He supposed whoever had done it came for the gun and left. He made his selections and exited carefully. He surveyed the quiet, empty street and sighed. When would the world be more like this? When would most of these fuckers die off and leave the world to the living? He knew it would happen eventually, it was just a matter of when.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:** just an FYI, this is planned as a 6 chapter piece, I will upload one or two chapters a day until it is complete_

* * *

He started the car and pulled back onto the main road. His head was filled with thoughts of Merle from childhood, from right before everything went to shit, and from the past few weeks. His brother was pretty much the same in all of these memories. It occurred to Daryl that Merle had adapted well to the new world. His life had been a steady stream of fighting something or someone and the dead had merely replaced drug dealers, cellmates, and his own father.

Daryl considered that a moment. It was where he and Merle had diverged. There was a point in his life where he made the conscious decision to not be like his brother. Avoiding drugs and jail time was part of it. But focusing on becoming a skilled hunter was more of it. It was what he felt set him apart from Merle most. Merle was a user and Daryl was a defender. It was why he had been able to integrate and contribute to the Atlanta group. When his brother had gone off to the city to score drugs and scope for possible angles, he had gone out hunting for a deer.

Merle survived because he used whatever he could find. Daryl survived because he gave to and took, in careful measure, from his immediate community. His father would not have approved, but Daryl didn't give a fuck. He didn't need his father's approval as he once had, and he was finally able to see that now.

About two miles from the prison, the car started to buck and sputter. He had figured it wouldn't get him all the way back, but it wasn't worth it to stop and trouble with filling the tank. When the car died, he coasted to the side of the road and surveyed the area. Clear so far. He pocketed his acquisitions, and snatching his crossbow from the seat slung it over his shoulder. He continued on foot to the prison.

He hadn't shed tears since leaving Merle's body and though they felt just at the surface, nothing came. And he wouldn't let them once he reached the gates. His family would understand his loss well enough. They all had lost someone. He didn't have to wear it for everyone to see. Right now anger was keeping those tears at bay. He was angry at Merle for leaving him again, even if a part of him understood. He was angry and he was growing tired with every step. The nearest thing was a mile marker post and he threw his fist at it. Though it bent slightly back at the contact, it sent a pain shooting up his arm, which briefly broke the anger and the skin on his knuckles. Fuck! That was stupid. He shook his wrist trying to ease the sting. Maybe Carol had something for it.

Carol. How would that go? She'd want to comfort him he knew, just like she'd tried to protect him when Merle had come back with him. But she also knew him too well. She knew the standard comfort wouldn't work on him.

Did he want her comfort? He sure as hell didn't want her pity. He wanted her steady calmness and quiet strength. What he wanted most was that she not treat him any differently, retreating or with kid gloves as he was sure the others would. He wanted her to just quietly invade his personal space and retreat with her sweet smile. Brush his arm briefly when she brought him a plate. Wrinkle her nose playfully when she gathered his laundry. He didn't want guilty-eyed stares, or muttered 'so-sorries', or wide berths in hallways.

The thought he allowed himself to entertained in passing was to bury his head in her shoulder and let the tears quietly flow. He imagined her arms pressed against his back and her own head resting into his. He was sure she would welcome this kind of comforting and would offer it most willingly. But to ask this, it spoke of a vulnerability of which he was unsure. It was one thing to joke in passing about screwing around, quite another to just let go and trust someone enough to shed tears. He wasn't good at casual intimacy, and he was downright frightened at the real stuff.

Who was he kidding? He uttered an audible 'shit!' to no one but himself, there wasn't even a walker to share in this revelation. He'd been closer to Carol than anyone his entire life. And far more intimate too. They had there silent understandings and respects. They always sat next to each other when they were both around the fire. She inquired after his health and well-being regularly as a way of checking in with him. He in turn was always aware of her position and proximity.

He picked up his pace. He could see the prison fence rising about a mile ahead of him and the sun had began to sink. Maybe he would see how he felt in the moment. He had no doubt he would find comfort with Carol, as she was, even in the stillest of times, his comfort. But the comfort of her arms, that he would have to wait and see how his own comfort confronted that.


	3. Chapter 3

His first goal would be to check in with the others. If, rather when, they asked about Merle, he would give a brief rendering. Nothing with passion nor anything that would show his heart. He would help prepare and he would fight. And he would deal with the pain and the hurt and the burial once the threat passed.

As he neared the prison, he loaded his bow and readied his side arm. His wrist still stung from punching the mile marker and he rubbed it briefly before taking aim. Walkers had gathered at the front gate, but they must have seen him approaching from the guard tower. Beth and Carl had dispatched most of them with sharpened poles. He shot a distracted one that had lumbered toward him and swiftly pulled the arrow from the skull.

Carl pulled the gate and Daryl slipped through taking note of Carl's stare. It was exactly what Daryl didn't want. Beth made a half smile. He nodded to her. At least she was trying. He turned to Carl. 'Where's your dad?'

'He's in the yard checking one of the vehicles.'

Daryl huffed a thanks and headed to the prison yard toward a sedan with its hood raised.

By the time the sun had sunk completely, he had been briefed of the plans for tomorrow and had shared what little he knew of the situation at the meeting place. They all had reacted in the uncomfortable way he'd expected, all but Carol and Michonne. Carol sat across from him at the briefing and her eyes never left him. When his eyes met hers, she would smile, the way she always smiled when their eyes met. At the end when they dispersed and Daryl hung back to talk more to Rick, he caught her gaze and she motioned with her head to tell him she'd be up in her cell and said without saying he was welcome to come by when he was free.

When Rick tried to express his sympathy, the best he could manage was what Daryl secretly called 'crazy eyes', a unique stress response to loss that was a mix of sympathy and fear. Rick still wasn't right, but he seemed to be getting a little better every day. Daryl could feel the guilt radiating off of him, and so he just let it quietly drop and he lead the conversation back to planning for the attack and convinced Rick that they both could use a little rest.

He passed Michonne on the stairs to the upper cells. She stopped and placed her hand firmly on his shoulder. She looked him straight in the eyes, her lips pressed firmly together and nodded at him. As swiftly as she had placed her hand, she removed it and continued down the stairs. Daryl respected that. She was straightforward and genuine and she didn't expect a response, which is what he felt like everyone else had wanted, even if it was just his acknowledgement so they could feel better.

As he continued up the stairs, the moonlight hit his hands and he remembered the blood, his brother's blood, dried there. He stopped by his cell and grabbed a towel and a clean shirt.

He poked his head around into Carol's cell and saw she'd packed her few belongings into a rucksack. She had pulled her boots off and he found he couldn't stop staring at her naked toes curling and uncurling on the cool concrete. Though he'd made no sound, she turned as if she'd felt him there and smiled at him, then looked down to where he was staring. She laughed. 'Yeah, I like to go barefoot, haven't had a lot of chances lately.'

He looked up at her. 'I...uh...' Damn toes! '...I'm going to go wash up and then get some air. If you want I was going to walk the fence and could use the company.'

She beamed. 'Sure. I'll get my boots back on and meet you out there.'

She turned away and he swore he saw her bounce. He took one last chance to stare at those toes and then he turned and made his way to the wash area downstairs.

He stood in front of the mirror that had been propped against the wall and poured water into the bowl. It was cool and he supposed he should have warmed it first. He felt someone at his left side and a hand grazed his right shoulder. 'Here. I had some left from Judith's bath. It isn't a lot, but it is warm.' Carol placed the can of water on the counter next to him and moved toward the outside door on the far wall.

It was like he was constantly in her thoughts. He didn't even have to ask, she just knew what he needed and when. The blood was stubborn, but he got the better part of it off his hands. He looked at his shirt in disgust. The anger welled up in him and he wanted to tear it to shreds, but he heard movement in the far corner of the room. Maggie was collecting supplies and he didn't need her sharing with Glenn and the others commentary on his rage. He placed it on a chair to the side of the washstand and pulled on a clean blue flannel that smelled like the sun. He didn't recognize the shirt. Perhaps it was a new one Carol had found for him and gone to the trouble to launder.

His anger subsided momentarily and he broke an actual smile. It felt good to be taken care of, to not trouble with those little things. Left to fend for himself he would have grabbed the first one he found and wore it straight from the package. He wouldn't have chosen blue he was quite sure, but he loved the color, it reminded him of her eyes.

He shook his head. 'What the fuck, Daryl!' he said aloud. Maggie looked up from the bag she was packing, and raised her eyebrows in question. He grabbed the bloody shirt from the chair, pulled on his jacket, and moved quickly to the door. 'Just forgot somethin' is all,' he tossed the words in her direction. She shrugged her shoulders as he pulled the door roughly.

He'd forgotten about the shirt in his hands until he was standing next to Carol. She was staring up at the moon and squinting as if she was looking at something. 'Satellites,' she said as if she'd sensed him there and switched her gaze to him.

'What ya got there?' She gestured her head toward the shirt wadded up in his hands.

'Nothin',' he said quickly.

She stared at it a moment and shifted her eyes up to meet his. He held contact with her for a moment and then dropped his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N:** Thank you for all of the reviews! Based on feedback, I've decided to combine my two last chapters, so there will only be a total of 5._

* * *

'Come on. Let's walk the fence. There's enough of a moon tonight, it'll be quick work.' They took off through the weeds of the open yard and headed for the far fence corner. She'd brought one of the sharp ended poles and was poking at the dying grass as they went along.

'Don't need that tonight,' he said, 'we're just going to make sure the fence is secure.'

'Never know,' she smiled, he could hear it more than see it, 'it's a good way to take out frustration and it means less later. Figured it didn't hurt to bring it along.'

They walked silently side by side until they reached the corner where two runs met. They opened the gap and climbed into the space between the fences that ran the length of the prison yard. He held the fence back for her as she crawled through the opening and he followed her securing it behind them. As he laced the chains together, the shirt fell from where he had tucked it under his arm.

He heard her stoop behind him and when he turned she held it out toward him. 'You lost this.' That smile, that damned loving understanding smile. How could she convey so much to him without saying a word?

'Thanks,' he said a bit too gruffly, regretting it the minute it left him. She held the pole in her right hand and leaned into it slightly, pulling up her left foot to rest on her right. She looked cute like that, and very young. He wanted to run off with her right then and go fishing, his own little Huck Finn. He shook his head. He was having such strange thoughts and she was proving to be a huge distraction.

His thoughts were interrupted by a walker clanging loudly against the fence. In one swift motion, Carol raised the pole, turned and shoved it right through the fence and into the walker's skull. She made a litte 'ugh' sound and he felt a pull in his lower stomach. Damn, what the fuck was she doing?

'What are you...' she stopped him with a raised finger. She dispatched another with the same swiftness and a louder grunt.

'I'm channeling all my anger, frustration, and fear into a single moment. It feels really good. And I release it with sound. I read it in some self-help book once. Obviously it didn't help me years ago, but I'm finding it very helpful now.' She smiled and he swore her eyes actually twinkled.

'Well, I hear ya,' he said and he actually felt a smile break out. He ducked his head sheepishly.

'Funny you,' she said and playfully smacked his shoulder. 'Don't knock it till you try it.'

'Pfft. I'm here for the fence, ma'am.'

She laughed at that. 'Well, come on then.'

They walked in silence for several minutes, he along the outside fence, stopping periodically to check the soundness, while she ran her fingers along the links of the inner fence, pausing when he would stop and starting again when he did. To him they felt very much in sync, more so because the whole time she never looked at him. She kept her eyes fixed on the prison itself.

When she spoke, it was sudden and clear. 'I don't know. I'm not ready to leave yet, not with winter coming on. Maybe in the spring, but no, not yet.'

'So you're glad we're fighting then?' He looked at her, her fingers were poised wistfully on the links of the fence. The Carol he first met outside of Atlanta would have run at the first sign of a threat.

'Yeah, I am. Just...' she trailed off.

She just left it there hanging. He didn't want her to bring up his brother, not now, not...

'...wish we weren't waiting for something to happen like scared rabbits. I guess I thought if we didn't run we'd be the ones to attack,' she finished and turned to look at him.

'Well, I'm just following Rick on this one. Attacking hasn't always turned out the best for us.' He stopped short. He realized he was now opening the door to talk about Merle, and he didn't want to go there.

'Daryl...' she said softly.

Shit! She was going to broach it. She was going to be like all the rest and pity him. He steeled himself and set his scowl.

'Daryl!' He felt the pole whiz by his left ear and hit into something that sounded very much like clay - wet and thick. The walker that had been right behind him dropped at his feet. Her eyes were wide and she looked like she was holding in a scream. She let out a breath and looked further past him. 'Must be a breach along here.'

'Damn thing didn't make a sound.' He kicked the walker over. The entire neck had been torn out, mostly likely the voice box with it. 'Where did he get in?' He could feel his heart hammering against his chest. About 20 feet ahead they could see the problem. It was one of the initial entry cuts they had made in the fence and secured with twine. This was the stretch of fence line they didn't use, so they had never replaced it with stronger wire. The elements had weathered it and it took little effort from the walker to break it.

Daryl quickly laced it with wire and checked the security. It was just 50 feet to the next junction and they could easily see no other walkers had entered. He checked the remaining fence and when they reached the guard tower at the junction he stopped and squatted down on his haunches. 'Thank you,' he got out before losing his calm. He leaned forward and threw up, mostly dry heaves because he hadn't eaten since breakfast.

'Fuck,' he pressed his palms to his forehead.

Carol moved to his left side and placed her hand on his shoulder, leaning down close to him. 'Daryl...are you okay?' Her hand moved from his shoulder to the middle of his back between the shoulder blades, rubbing back and forth soothingly.

His legs gave out under him and he fell back on his butt, sending gravel in all directions.

'My wrist,' he said weakly, holding it out to her.

She reached down to take his offered wrist in both hands, gently moving it from one to the other as she inspected it. 'What did you do to it?' her eyes reflected the concern in her voice.

'I hit...it'

She cradled it in her left hand and massaged along the tendons with her right, taking care to not rub too deeply.

He wanted to run, he wanted to cry, but he just let his wrist relax and he allowed her to work at it. She was focused on her task and he took the opportunity to study her face even though half of it was obscured in shadow. She'd saved him and the most he could manage was 'thank you.' She raised her eyes and looked at him directly. 'Hey, I've got your back.' It was her answer he knew to his thanks. She didn't blink, she didn't flinch - she'd just acted. She'd become quite the warrior.

They stood together and moved to the gate. She was right behind him, and as he reached out his hand to pull the gate open, she reached up to place her hand over his, her fingers overlapping in the spaces between. 'I'm always here Daryl.' Her hand lingered for a moment and she moved it lower to help him with the gate. They continued along the fence line in silence, she giving him space both physical and conversational. When they reached the courtyard, she leaned the rod against the wall while he bent to tie his shoelace.

He felt the soft pressure of her hand on his right shoulder. She gave it a comforting squeeze and removed her hand, shoving it deep into the pocket of her coat. He stood and watched her search around a bit before reemerging with a small folded piece of paper. She pressed it into his palm and whispered 'Goodnight, Daryl.'


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N:** okay, final chapter - going to mark this one complete - thank you for hanging with me through my first multi-chap :)_

* * *

He was tired, but he wasn't sure he could sleep. He'd hoped that walking the fence would distract him, which for a while it did. But it really only served to show him how vulnerable he was; how vulnerable they all were.

He remembered the shirt he'd shoved into his jacket and went to retrieve it. He became suddenly aware of the folded piece of paper in his palm. What could she have possibly written? He unfolded it and held the paper closer to his eyes to read it in the moonlight. In slanted print letters, it read:

_These three things are open: my mind, my heart, my door -C_

He reread it several times, committing the words to memory that he was sure he would repeat over and over in his head that night. There is no rest for the grieving. Ha! He caught himself. That wasn't true when his father died. Best damn night of sleep he'd ever had.

He folded the paper back into its neatly creased folds and placed it in the inner vest pocket of his jacket near his heart. He pulled the bloodstained shirt from inside his jacket and held it up. The blood had dried to a darker color and absorbed into the cloth. He was used to bloodstained clothes - it was the hunter's existence. And after this all had started, he'd had his share of human blood on his clothes as well, including his own. But never his brother's. He was really gone this time. The only family he had now resided in these walls.

He wadded the shirt into a tight ball and yanked the door open, he was sure now what he needed. He climbed the stairs to his cell. He removed his jacket and hung it on the bedpost; removed his boots and placed them by the bedside. He then unloaded all of his weapons and placed them carefully in their respective homes. He snatched up the shirt from the bed and moved quietly to the cell next to his own.

'Carol?' It was dark and quiet, but when he spoke her name, he saw her move forward into the light. She'd been sitting up on her bed. Waiting for him or morning, he wasn't quite sure.

'Hi,' her greeting was soft and hung lightly in the air. He heard her let out the faintest sigh, as if she'd been holding her breath.

'I was wondering...could you...you know...after...' He held the shirt out to her, with both hands, wanting, it seemed, to both get it as far as possible from his being while not wanting to let it go.

She leaned forward and took the shirt from him. 'Of course.' And of course she didn't ask. She knew what it was, just as he imagined she knew the pain clenching now at his heart.

He took a step forward and then stopped himself. If he did this, if he showed this side to her, she would know and he would never again feel like he could hide from her. No matter how far he'd let her in at times, he never just opened himself completely - to anyone. He'd built defenses over a lifetime and to give on these...that was relinquishing the only power he had left.

He took a step back.

'Can I see it?' She looked up at him questioningly.

'See what?'

'Your wrist, is it still hurting?'

'Yeah, a bit.'

'Come, sit. I have something that might help.' She patted the spot next to her on the bunk. She rummaged in a black bag of medical supplies next to her bed and pulled out a sport cream. He hesitated, but complied.

The air felt very close in the cell and he could feel his lungs struggling for air. This was panic, he was sure. Something foreign to him. As a hunter he had steel nerves. Suddenly it smelled like wintergreen and he relaxed a little. She placed his hand in her lap and worked the cream into his wrist in long strokes and small circles. He flinched a little at the coolness of it, but as she worked it in, it became warmer and the pain started to fade.

'It should feel much better by morning,' she smiled at him and placed the cream back in her bag. She pulled out a bottle of pills and shook out two which she handed him with some water. 'These will help too.' She watched him as he took the pills and he stared back at her, not even breaking eye contact as he tilted the water bottle back.

They sat, staring in silence for a couple of minutes. He felt the knot in his stomach relax somewhat. There was so much he wanted to say. He wanted to work out the confusion of what his brother had done. He wanted to rage at his being alone now. He wanted to tell her his terror of having to put him down. He wanted to say so much, but he could not form his thoughts into words. Instead they turned inside of him to tears. If he didn't leave now he wouldn't be able to hold them back.

He felt her hand on his upper back. She'd been sitting with her back to the head of the bed and her right leg to the floor with her left curled in front of her. He felt her shift to stretch the left leg out behind him.

'Here,' she said and pulled him toward her, at the same time scooting toward him. She pulled his head to her chest and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. 'It's okay, just let it go.'

And he did. And she held him through the whimpers and the tears and the deep choking sobs. And she didn't say a word. She didn't tell him it would be okay, or that he did what he had to, or that Merle was a good man at heart. Instead she held him close and didn't let him go.

There was a point when he'd felt cried out and no more teams came, although his cheeks were still damp and he could feel the cloth of her shirt under him soaked. He felt so much lighter inside, but empty too. Sadness replaced by sorrow. She sensed this shift in him and she moved a hand from his back to smooth and stroke his hair. He felt so vulnerable in that moment.

'Here,' she said and shifted, encouraging him to lay on his side. She curled along his back, knees pressed behind his, one arm curled over the top of his head, caressing it softly and the other draped over his waist. In the dark he sought it and clasped her fingers with his own, pulling it tightly to his chest. He let out a sigh and allowed his body to relax into her. He needed sleep for tomorrow and he felt the tiredness from the day creep through his body now.

Made vulnerable by his own emotional release, there was no sense fighting this. She was soft and warm and comforting and she smelled good and the sheets smelled good and he felt himself starting to drift.

His eyes flew open. For a moment he didn't know where he was. This wasn't his bed, it felt different, smelled different. And there was a lot of light. Morning and he remembered. He rolled onto his back, relieved that he was alone for this moment. He pulled himself up to rest on his elbows. Carol had removed her bags, most likely in preparation for the day and she was nowhere in sight. He sat up and when his feet touch the floor, he pulled them up quickly from the cold concrete. His socks were gone along with his shirt and pants. On the chair by the bed he saw a stack of clean clothes. He changed quickly into them and ran his fingers through his hair.

He heard movement and bustling of dishes downstairs and he crept quietly to his own cell. He pulled on his boots, gathered up his acquisitions from the day before into his jacket, and packed up the few remaining items in his cell. He gathered his weapons and the bag and headed downstairs. About half of the group was finishing breakfast and the other half was busy packing vehicles and making preparations for the coming battle. He added his bag to the pile of items headed for the vehicles and turned to head out the door to pack his bike.

He felt a gentle hand on his forearm. 'Not without breakfast.' Carol smiled at him with a bowl of oatmeal extended. He let out a soft grunt and sat at the table with Hershel and Beth, eating in silence as they went over their portion of the plan. Once Hershel caught his eyes and gave a slight nod. There was sympathy there and Daryl let it pass with a return nod.

He finished breakfast quickly and made his way outside. He sat on the ground next to Merle's bike, his now he corrected mentally, and loaded the quiver to capacity. He checked the ammo and extra guns in his side packs. From his pocket he pulled the sack of marbles he'd found at the antique store. When he was just a kid, Merle would spend hours shooting marbles with him. These he would bury them with Merle's body once they had time for a proper burial.

From his other pocket he pulled the rings. These would keep until he had time. He wanted to take this deeper with Carol. Over the last year she'd proven to be his soul-companion, and in the last twelve hours she'd proven to be his true friend. Now it was time for his heart to catch up and last night he had opened that door.

He placed the items carefully in his side packs. When he heard boots on the pavement and he spoke without even looking, he knew it was her. 'You know, Merle never did nothing like that his whole life.'

'He gave us a chance,' she said.

He looked up at her and she motioned with her hand in an offer to help pull him up. He grasped her hand and he pushed himself up, capturing her gaze. The whole of last night passed between them - a lingering touch and gaze that spoke volumes that words never would.

As he watched her walk away, he could feel his heart racing to catch up and he knew it would - his mind was already there.


End file.
